Home Invasion
by BarricadeBoy221B
Summary: When Harvey first moves into his new place, he expects to be living alone. But one of the previous tenants has other idea's. Light Marvey/Unrequited
1. Roommate

Six days; this guy had been here for nearly a week, and he still hadn't finished unpacking. Mike knew for a fact he didn't start work for another eight days, just like he knew that he was a lawyer, and that he dressed like a Hugo Boss model. For the time being, he'd kept busy by teasing the guy – moving the odd object every now and then, just for fun. It'd been way too long since the house had had a tenant, and he hoped that this one would stay around. He seemed a little uptight, but he had okay taste in music, and seemed like a generally decent guy. No weird fetishes that Mike could see so far, no drug habits – not that he was really one to judge there. His name was Harvey. Harvey Specter. Sounded like a comic book hero, but Mike liked it. And after following Harvey around a little and watching him sing along with his records and occasionally attempt a dance move or two as he gradually got through the boxes, Mike decided he kinda liked Harvey, too.

But, he didn't want to scare him off, which was why for the first month Mike kept himself out of sight. Once Harvey had started his job he wasn't home as much, but whenever he was Mike would take his token place on the couch and sit in silence as his tenant finished his work, reading over his shoulder, soaking everything up like a sponge. It was an odd coincidence that Harvey's line of work coincided with what Mike had wanted to do with his life; it made the evenings a little more entertaining at least.

Until however, he slipped up. It was late, but Harvey couldn't sleep. Mike by default didn't need to, so he'd accompanied Harvey to the sofa and sat with him as he switched between channels. It was when he'd flicked onto the movie menu that Mike let his guard down – 'The Godfather' was due to start in three minutes, and by reflex, he had reacted;

"No wait! Stay on this one!" He knew Harvey couldn't hear him – well, he thought he had. Because when the lawyer leapt to his feet and the remote went crashing to the floor, Mike had to admit he would have jumped out of his skin as well, if he still had any. Instead, he settled for yelling in fright and copying Harvey, staggering a few steps back with his hands up.

"The hell was that-"

"Where did you- Who are you?" Fully expecting there to be someone behind him, Mike turned round, assuming he'd come face to face with an intruder. But the doorway leading through to the kitchen was empty of everything but darkness. Now painted with a similar shade of confusion, Mike looked back at Harvey. He had his phone in his hand, then at his ear, eyes trained on Mike.

"I need police," with a quick glance down at Mikes shirt, he paused before adding; "and an ambulance." Mike didn't really listen to the rest of what Harvey was saying – he was too busy trying to work out how Harvey was talking about him when Harvey couldn't see him.

Unless he could. In which case, his hands came up in a gesture of surrender.

"No, hey – I'm not gonna hurt you." Hanging up the phone, Harvey snapped back. It was impressive; if he was nervous or scared, it didn't show at all.

"You've got five seconds to tell me what the hell you're doing here."

"Nothing –well, I mean I was going to watch TV but-"

"How did you get in here? Who did that to you?" Looking down at his bloody T Shirt, Mike quickly pulled his hoodie around himself to cover it.

"It's okay, look, just call them back – I'm not here to hurt you, I'm not-"

"You should have gone to a hospital, kid."

"Harvey, listen to me – I don't need help."

"I'm thinking you do- how do you know my name?" Wide eyes got a little wider for a moment as Mike tried to think of some way to wriggle out of this, not that he had many options to begin with. Well, now was as good a time as any he supposed.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

"That doesn't answer my question."

"But it will. Maybe."

"Look kid, I don't know if you're high or just – what the…" In the blink of an eye, Harvey was talking to thin air. When Mike reappeared a second later halfway up the stairwell, the lawyer could only stare back.

"Haven't been high for two years. This is gonna sound crazy, but, when the cops get here, you're gonna have to explain why you called them out for nothing."

"You never said how you knew my name, or who you are or how you got in here."

"...I know your name because I've watched you work, listened to you on the phone. You've mentioned it a couple of times. As for me, I'm Mike Ross. And I got in here…" his sentence trailed when red and blue lights flickered through the blinds, and in the moment that Harvey was forced to answer the door, Mike had disappeared again. Harvey was smart; he'd come up with something to make them leave. But Mike knew smart and open minded didn't always go hand in hand. He'd messed up, and now he knew he was here. As he listened to Harvey lie through his teeth about how his injured intruder had made a run for it, Mike could only perch on the top stair and wonder how long it'd be before Harvey moved out. Once they were alone again, Harvey rubbed his hands over his face – by the time they were back down by his sides, Mike was on the couch.

"That went well"

"Why are you here, Mike."

"I'm here because I can't leave."

"Oh? Please, enlighten me. Let me guess – crippling agoraphobia?"

"I wish…look, I'm sorry – I didn't mean for you to find out I was here."

"But _why _are you here, that's what you're not telling me"

"I'm here because I can't leave." Mike repeated patiently, hands wringing a little anxiously in his lap.

"I can't leave, because this is where I died."


	2. Explanation

At first Harvey wanted to blame sleep deprivation for the entire evenings events, but when no amount of eye rubbing and heavy blinking made Mike disappear, he eventually broke the awkward silence.

"So, if I've got this straight – you're dead."

"Yeah."

"And you're a ghost."

"Those two things usually go hand in hand." Sinking back onto the sofa, Harvey sat back, looking at Mike; evidently he was still trying to wrap his head around the situation, but to be honest Mike wasn't sure how much more there really was for him to understand. It seemed pretty simple to him.

"Alright; so that we're on the same page – I'm assuming you're going to be staying here?" Although he knew the answer, Mike still paused before replying.

"Pretty much."

"Wait, so you've been here the entire time? Since I moved in?" The smirk that came across the other's face confirmed that one, though it only left Harvey looking more disgruntled than before.

"Fantastic…" A little cautiously, Mike returned to the couch. "Look at it like this; I've been here all this time and haven't caused you any trouble."

"Right – so I'm guessing it wasn't you who turned the furniture in here upside down a few nights ago, or switched my records around."

"Okay, guilty as charged – but come on. 'The spinners'? Really?"

"For your information, they were one of the defining – you know what, this is my stuff and my house – I don't need to justify anything to you."

"Alright, alright – though, technically I was here before you"

"Yeah. But then you died, and I bought it. It was fair game." Maybe that was a little harsh, but at that moment in time Harvey was too annoyed and tired to really give a crap. Fortunately, the comment was soon shrugged off.

"Long story short, you're not going anywhere?"

"It wasn't a long story to begin with." Looking back at Harvey from the hands in his lap, Mike met the half hearted glare with one of his own. "But no. I'm not."

"Have you tried?"

"Tried?"

"Leaving the house. 'Going to the light'."

"Yes, I have. And there hasn't been any light for me to go towards. Just…this," He motioned to the room around them, "and even if there had been, I probably wouldn't have gone to it."

"Why not?" Swallowing thickly, Mike deflected the question quickly, starting to regret coming to join Harvey in the first place. It was natural he'd have questions once Mike showed himself; that didn't make them any more fun to answer.

"It doesn't matter." After a beat, "So I guess you're gonna leave then." Pushing to his feet, Harvey pushed a hand through his hair, stifling a yawn before replying.

"Wouldn't you be so lucky. I'm going to bed, and if you're still here in the morning I'll know I'm not completely insane. Either way, I'm not leaving anytime soon. I'm here to stay." He sounded triumphant, as though him staying was the worst thing he could insist on and that Mike would back down as a result. Instead, the blonde couldn't help but smile a little, only confusing Harvey more.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just…you're the first person I've shown myself to in two years who hasn't tried to have me exorcised or moved out three days later. Haven't had any real conversations with anyone in that time-"

"If you're gonna start a soliloquy about how lonely you've been…"

"No, I wasn't. I mean it is lonely, but I was just gonna say…I'm glad you're staying."

"You barely know me."

"I know enough. Look, I won't be trouble. I can stay out of sight if you want me to"

"Tempting, but you'll be here regardless of whether or not I can see you. Do want you want – but if you mess with my stuff anymore, I hire an old priest and a young priest first thing in the morning." He barely got halfway upstairs before Mike called after him.

"That's for possession, not a haunting-"

"Good night, 'Mike'."

And like that, he was alone again. But he still waited to hear the bedroom door close upstairs before punching the air in triumph, accompanied by a whispered 'Yes!' as he floated a short way off the couch. The rest of the night passed slowly, but by the time seven o'clock came around, it was nice to not have to hide himself as Harvey came downstairs. He was buttoning his cuffs, and obviously hadn't noticed the figure sprawled lazily on the sofa.

"Morning."

"Jesus…can you not do that?"

"Lay down..?" Harvey didn't grace him with an answer, instead opting to ignore him as he went through to the kitchen. Following behind shortly after, Mike settled on an unused countertop and watched in silence as Harvey made a coffee. Glancing over, the lawyer frowned.

"Are you really just gonna stare at me until I leave?"

"Does it bother you?"

"A little, yeah."

"You shouldn't be so self conscious, Harvey. I'm sure you make excellent coffee."

"Shut up." This time, the order was a little more light hearted, and both men found themselves smiling. Pulling up a chair, Harvey took a seat, turning to face Mike.

"You didn't tell me last night"

"About what?" When he just gestured to the area on Mike's shirt that was saturated with blood, the smile dissolved a little.

"…You didn't ask, so…"

"Well, I am now." After a sip of coffee, "What happened? How'd you die..?" There was a long pause before Mike eventually gave him an answer – long enough to almost make Harvey feel bad about asking.

"I, ah….there was, a friend of mine was here. We got into an argument, and he shot me. It was an accident, but...yeah. Shit happens. "

"That escalated quickly…Did you get help?" Another pause.

"No. He left. Neighbours heard the shot, but no – it wouldn't have mattered anyway, I mean I was bleeding a lot, I passed out pretty fast."

"Don't tell me he got away with it?" Mike could only shrug.

"I don't know."


	3. Specter and spectre

"You don't know?"

"That's what I said…"

"What were you arguing about?"

"Do we have to talk about this now?"

"Oh turn off your teenager voice. I want answers."

"Yeah, and people in Hell want slurpee's…"

"What?"

"Nothing." With a slightly confused look, Harvey finally let the subject go, and soon after, he was gone for the day, leaving Mike alone with his thoughts. Hardly something he wasn't used to, of course. It was hard to tell when Harvey would be home; sometimes he was back before eight, other nights Mike wouldn't have company until gone midnight. One could argue that, since he'd spent two years alone more or less, a full day wouldn't be too much worse. But in a way it was; now that he'd had a taste of human interaction with someone he got on with, having that someone leave for hours on end sucked balls. Each time a car pulled up outside he'd be at the window, seeing if it was his new tenant back for the night.

This particular day, a car door slamming shut didn't rouse him from his daydreams until eleven o'clock, by which point Mike was beyond bored to tears. Harvey had barely been in the door two seconds before his house guest was spawning in front of him, greeting him like a new puppy does its owner. Though the look on Harvey's face cued Mike to back off before he had to be told. Letting him pass, the ghost sat in the window seat, watching a suit jacket get flung haphazardly at the back of the sofa, waiting for it to slowly drop to the floor in a heap before finally piping up.

"So…rough day?"

"You're quick."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Take a guess" He took both a silent guess and the silent hint to change the subject or shut up. Drink in hand, Harvey all but fell onto the couch, turning the TV on but not really looking like he cared what was put on. It was just some news channel, but Mike still hesitated before moving from the window seat to the sofa, taking his place on Harvey's left. For a while, neither said anything, instead just watched the screen a few feet away. Gradually Harvey's glass emptied, though Mike noticed that with it his bad mood seemed to dilute as well. Eventually, he tested the waters, clearing his throat before breaking the ice. He spoke slowly, gauging Harvey's reactions to him bringing up the subject of how his day had gone for the second time.

"So…did you lose a case? Or…something…?" This was met with a half hearted scoff, and for a second, Mike thought he'd worked a miracle and Harvey had cheered up. But the smile only lasted for a moment.

"No. No, one thing you'll learn about me Mike is that losing isn't something I do. I haven't lost a case since…well, since I was an associate. And I'm still not convinced that counted."

"Then what? You came storming in here like someone just skinned your cat alive." The macabre comment won Mike a quizzical look, and no answer until he rephrased.

"…You seemed pissed." When he realized Mike wasn't going to back off anytime soon, Harvey looked away with a short sigh.

"It'd just been a rough day. For one, my associate can't tell his face from his ass half the time and I seem to be the only one who gives a shit about getting results anymore. It's ridiculous. We're supposed to hire from the most prestigious law school in the country, and instead I get lumped with the one graduate who can't tell 'mens rea' from 'actus reus.'"

"I'm sure he's trying-"

"Yes, he is. Very trying."

"That's not what-"

"I know what you meant, and I'm electing to ignore it given the fact that you don't know him, you don't work for me, and you asked what I was pissed about and now that I'm telling you you're interrupting."

"Come on, what are you – twelve?" Another pointed glare was shot his way, but Mike continued regardless.

"You're obviously very good at what you do-"

"The best."

"See now you're interrupting – as I was saying, he's probably just intimidated by you. I mean, I would be-"

"When I hire somebody, I'm not hiring a child – I want an adult. You want to know what's intimidating? Real life."

"Careful, Harvey – you're starting to sound like a football game pep talk."

"Whatever his problem is, he needs to sort it out and get his shit together. I don't have time to babysit." Although he was maybe being a little harsh, Mike could see where Harvey was coming from. Shifting himself round so he was facing Harvey fully, he smirked a little.

"You know it's funny – if I wasn't dead, I could probably work for you." Of course, the lawyer was immediately sceptical, but he let Mike talk anyway.

"Oh really? And what, you just happen to be a Harvard graduate-"

"With an encyclopaedic knowledge of the law? Not quite – well, the second part yes, but I didn't go to Harvard." His interest now piqued, Harvey prompted him to continue.

"Where did you go?"

"…Nowhere. I mean, I went to college, but kinda got…kicked out." For the first time that day, Harvey actually laughed a little.

"Just so I'm clear, you think you could work for me, without a law degree. Now, say that to yourself and see if you can spot the anomaly."

"I wasn't lying before – I can tell you anything about the law. I studied for it – the bar – but things didn't work out."

"And why's that?" The sudden awkwardness that seemed to overcome Mike was more than enough to make Harvey want to know more. On the other side of the couch, Mike was somewhat regretting saying so much.

"…I remember things. As in…once I've read something, I never forget it. Anyway, I let a friend of mine talk me into using this skill to memorize tests and sell people the answers for cash – only problem being I eventually got caught."

"So, were it not for the cheating and the 'not actually having passed the bar' issues, I'd be inclined to agree with you."

"Could be fun though; you with your suits and hair gel, me and my boyish good looks and superhuman mind…"

"Please, stop."

"Could open our own firm…"

"You're an idiot"

"'Specter and Spectre'"

"I'm going to bed…" The jokes were dumb, but as he watched Harvey go up the stairs with his mood now lifted to a degree, Mike felt just a little bit triumphant.


	4. Mischief managed

Another week passed without much note, for Mike anyway. Harvey came and went as usual, though whenever he left for the day, Mike found himself thinking more and more about the subject he tried to do anything but think about; what would happen if his chance to leave the house arose. He'd avoided the question when it had come up before, but even he couldn't ignore it forever. His parents hadn't been especially religious or spiritual, and neither had he – the afterlife wasn't really something he anticipated once he'd died, but now that he was here he was faced with the same kind of anxiety the living have of dying. What would come after this? What would happen to him if, say…a tunnel or door presented itself to him with nothing beyond but a bright light?

As it stood, he was happy enough to stay on this plane – he finally had someone to talk to, and that someone was funny, charming, and an overall decent guy. Of course, there was the question of what he'd do if Harvey moved away, but Mike liked to put that into the 'cross that bridge when they came to it' category. After all, there wasn't much point in worrying about something that may not happen for a long time yet. Harvey made good money, and Mike knew he liked the house and the neighbourhood – or at least, as much as someone like him would care about that kind of thing. But, regardless, Mike couldn't deny that he enjoyed anticipating another person coming home, and having them actually acknowledge his existence. Actually ask how his day had gone, even if that question usually harboured the same sort of answer.

They'd always end up talking about Harvey's day, Harvey's work, and by default, those who Harvey worked with. By now, Mike had heard all about Donna – the beautiful, witty and ever-so-very quirky assistant – and the managing partner- Amazonian hybrid by the name of Jessica Pearson. Even Louis got talked about, although Mike doubted that Harvey really found him as trying as he made out. And all that was fine with him. It seemed as though Harvey needed someone to talk to – and not even in the lonely, repressed sort of way. In the simple way that every human needs someone to communicate with on a relaxed, neutral term. Someone to unload their day onto. Mike had had Trevor, Jenny, and his Grandmother. But it was apparent to him that Harvey was very much a lone wolf, whether or not he intended for things to end up that way.

And as the evening crept by, a hockey game playing in the background (Harvey had found out early on that Mike was a particularly big fan) and Harvey carried on about a client or a case, the deep seated pull in the pit of his stomach told Mike that he hadn't been listening for the past ten minutes. It also suggested a reason why, but he quickly tried to shake the feeling, and tried to stop himself from staring at the way Harvey's jaw moved when he spoke, the way he'd smile in disbelief as he recited an anecdote, how he gestured with his hands to emphasise a point every now and then. In fact, he was so busy trying not to stare that he ended up doing it that much more intensely, until Harvey broke off his sentence, fixing the ghost with narrowed eyes and half a smirk.

"What?"

"What? What, I was listening"

"No, you weren't. You were staring at me like you wanted to tell me I have a 'pretty mouth'"

"What, no – oh God, that's...disgust- no, I wasn't staring"

"You were listening? Alright, fine; what loophole did I use to talk a client into settling with earlier today?" Evidently, Mike's face was enough of an answer. But Harvey just shrugged it off, putting it down to a 'dead thing', which the young ghost took a little offence to.

"Okay, first of all, you've been talking for the past hour – you're gonna have to forgive me for slipping into a coma near the end. And second of all, just because I'm dead does not mean I'm any less 'aware'" That last word was accompanied with air quotes, though Harvey just rolled his eyes.

"As far as I know, ghosts can't slip into comas, or daydream, because I'm guessing you can't even sleep, let alone 'night dream'"

"And as far as I know, that's not a real term…"

"It is now."

"Now that you've brought it up, that's a good point"

"What?"

"I've never tried sleeping – since I died, I mean." Harvey just raised a brow at him, before turning away to yawn.

"Yeah, well...I can imagine you've got a lot more important things to do now that you're faced with eternity than sleep. I mean, what…you've gotta be awake before me so you can mess up my records, turn the boiler off, and mix the salt and the sugar…"

"Oh, please – you're giving me ideas" Both men chuckled at that.

"Alright. Let's make this interesting. If I can manage to fall asleep tonight, I get to choose what we watch on TV for the next week."

"Yeah, that's great, but how do I know you won't lie?" Tucking his thumb into his palm, Mike held his four fingers to his heart in a 'scouts honour' sort of salute.

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good"

"I think you're meant to say something like 'I solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help me God'"

"Well, I could, but then I'd be lying." Giving Harvey a winning smirk, Mike waited for the lawyer to get up from his spot on the couch before sprawling out, making a show of stretching and yawning melodramatically.

"Besides, you'd get sick of hearing that after a while"

"You'd be surprised what I don't get sick of. I'll see you tomorrow"

"Yeah...have a good night"

"And you." And thus, Mike was alone once again, Harvey's bare feet gradually disappearing step by step. Though, as he listened to the floorboards of his room creaking with each footfall, Mike couldn't help but try something out. Shutting his eyes, he concentrated for a moment, and just as planned, the first floor was thrown into darkness. Mike could only smirk as Harvey cursed to himself, before leaning over the bannister;

"Mike, if that was you I swear to God…"

"Mischief managed."


	5. Remember, Remember

Right, okay. Sleep. Sleep…there's nothing difficult about it, right? Other than the fact he didn't particularly feel tired (or anything physical, for that matter). But, for a week's worth of control of the television, Mike was more than willing to try. Settling onto the couch, he folded an arm behind his head, and shut his eyes. It felt strange, and a little silly for him to even be doing this. But, half an hour later, and he lay completely still. While he was wandering around and 'awake', he tended to simulate breathing out of habit, but now he just lay there, invisible even to Harvey if he happened to venture downstairs.

As it turned out, the dead can dream. Or to be more specific, they can remember things. Like short movies on screens, memories of their lives will play, one after the other. Up until 5 am, Mike remembered his first day at college – and consequently, a number of other good memories from back in the day. Christmas day when he was fourteen, his sixteenth birthday. His first joint, meeting Trevor.

Trevor…that was a trove of experiences right there in that name.

It had been late – or early; 4:52 in the morning to be exact, when his front door had nearly been bashed in. The way Trevor was going, either his fist was going to shatter or the door was, and Mike didn't have the money to bet either way. Half-heartedly pulling a hoodie on over his shirt, Mike had gone downstairs with absolutely no idea who could be trying to beat his front door into submission, only that they were really, really intent on doing just that.

"Okay, okay alright, I'm coming..." Unlocking it, he practically yawned his friends name, before blinking a couple of times, trying to get a read on what had happened through fatigue blurred eyes.

"…What's going on? Are you okay-" and that was round about the time Trevor had stepped into the house and landed a good, solid punch, right to the jaw. Luckily, there wasn't much room for Mike to hit the floor, though the wall didn't do much to cushion the blow either. Backing into the living room, Mike held one hand out while the other rubbed his face gingerly. Trevor looked pissed; seriously pissed, and for once Mike didn't know what he'd done to cause his friend to hulk out.

"What the hell, man"

"What the hell? Really, that's all you've got?"

"Trevor, I don't know-"

"Like _hell _you don't. Where were you last night?"

"What..?"

"Answer me – where the fuck were you?" Searching his memory of the previous night's expeditions, he ventured an answer that would hopefully mediate the situation. Spoiler warning, it didn't.

"I was at a bar-"

"With who."

Oh. Oh, shit. Okay, now it started to come back.

"…Jenny – but listen, Trevor, we weren't there 'together' okay – we just bumped into each other and-"

"And what, Mike? You got talking, maybe had a couple of drinks, then went back to her place and just happened to screw each other? Man, what a coincidence – it just so happens I'm screwing her too." Rubbing his hands across his eyes and down his face, Mike exhaled deeply, trying to think of what he could say or do to fix this. He'd had a lot to drink last night – he barely remembered getting home, let alone spending the night with Jenny…

"Say something."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Trevor – I'm sorry?" Trevor just snorted in disbelief, rolling his eyes and raking his fingers through his hair.

"That'd be good way to start, asshole."

"Okay – I'm sorry. Really, Trevor, I…don't know what I was thinking, I was drunk and it just happened, you know? Shit happens-" And that was, objectively one of the worst things Mike could have let fall out of his mouth at that moment. Trevor just stood, staring at him, not really knowing how to react to such a brazen comment. As though his best friend sleeping with his girlfriend could just be laughed off, shrugged off, forgotten.

"You really think that, Mike..? Just…'it happens'…'no big deal'…" Mike opened his mouth to respond, to apologize for acting (and sounding) like such a dick, when Trevor moved his arm suddenly. That in itself made Mike twitch in surprise, but the gunshot that rang out a second later completely blindsided him. This was one of those times that time just slows right down, just for you. Mike could have sworn that shot came from next door – were they being robbed, maybe? Or had someone been attacked in the street? It was way too loud to be outside though. It was around then that the look on Trevor's face prompted Mike to look down, see why he'd gone so grey.

Had it not been that, the sudden twisting, achingly sharp pains crackling through his entire abdominal cavity would have done the trick just as well.

'_Wait…no, just a second…why's my shirt so wet and hot? And that's…blood? Argh, okay this really, really fucking hurts. Wait, why's Trevor leaving – dude, come on, I need help. I know you hate me right now but something's happened…fuck. You shot me…? You shot me. I've been shot…Jesus Christ, okay, I need help, right now'_

He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he did his best to clamp a hand over his injury. He knew he needed to call for help, but with no landline, his only option was to get upstairs. It's sort of nuts, you know, how fast you can lose blood. Only takes a few minutes, if you do enough damage. Steadying himself on the bannister with a white-knuckle grip, Mike started towards the first step, though every step was like he was taking four backwards.

'_cell phone's on the bedside table holy shit this hurts like a bitch – it's okay, it's gonna be fine – you're not gonna die, you've just gotta get upstairs, dial 911. Stairs…Christ…'_

He managed four or five steps before stumbling; his legs felt as though they were sinking beneath him, not doing what they were designed to do, only cushioning his less than graceful collapse in the stairwell.__

'Fuck, alright. Mike you can do this, come on – you need to do this, why aren't you getting up? Legs, come on, do me a favour and just do your jobs, please…that's a lot of blood…like, a lot….and it's all coming from me? Jesus…maybe if I just, if I rest for a minute…'

There wasn't much of that 'his vision turned white, and he felt a sudden surge of peace' crap. This was awful, something frightening, something unexpected, and something that had a grown man clutching at the wound on his belly, sparing as much effort as he could to cry. God knows how other people deal with death when they're awake to experience it; do people normally cry? They do on TV, in movies…at that moment he couldn't see himself reacting any other way. Was it like this for his parents…? Did they suffer, or was it quick, relatively painless? He had no idea. He'd never been told.

He just knew that, on Thursday the 21st of March, while the life was literally draining out of him, he was more alone than he'd ever been, and he'd never needed his mother more.


	6. You win

Usually, Harvey was quite a heavy sleeper – once he was in bed and comfortable, and had found that perfect position with the pillow angled just right and just the right amount of leg poking out from under the duvet, he was gone.

He enjoyed resting and being alone as much as he enjoyed being around others, in the office or meeting clients. And on the occasional night where he got a good, solid eight hours of sleep, those were the nights followed by the best kind of morning. The kind when his hand would lazily find the alarm, switching it off, and for a minute, staying put. Just to let himself come to, wayward limbs stretching beneath the covers, and taking a deep, slow breath to really remind himself he was awake. When he would slowly sit up, reaching his arms high above his head and he would straighten his back, hearing little pops and cracks of satisfaction from his joints and practically feeling the blood beginning to flow through his muscles again. It's a feeling everyone can appreciate. Expensive sheets against bare skin was a sensation a select few can describe, and Harvey was smug in the knowledge that he was one of those few. The carpet would feel rich beneath his feet as he got up to open the blinds, fresh morning pouring across the room like a tidal wave. He'd definitely classify himself as a morning person; whether or not that was due to habit, the feeling of having the entire day at his disposal was one he could appreciate.

This morning was not one of those mornings. It wasn't his alarm that woke him up, and when he rudely prompted into wakefulness by his bedroom door slamming open, he didn't feel refreshed at all. Out of reflex he went to turn his digital clock off, but the time told him it was only 5:03am, a good hour before he normally woke up. A little dazed and confused, he propped himself up in bed, watching in bewilderment as the main overhead lights flickered on and off, as well as the lights in the hallway, his bedside lamp, and those downstairs. From the en suite, he could hear the taps running, the shower turning on and off, and from the space under the door, the bathroom lights going haywire as well. The bedroom lights were the first thing he tried to control, but the switch didn't do anything. Turning the shower off worked, as did the taps – but anything electrical was out of his hands.

Now that he was a little more awake, his thoughts immediately turned to Mike – but he had no reason to be acting out like this – and certainly not at this time in the morning. If, on the off chance it was him, Harvey was prepared to stand by his threat of exorcism. Sidestepping out of the room – in case the door felt like slamming itself closed – He leaned forward on the bannister.

"Mike! Give it a rest!" Nothing changed, other than the bulb in his lamp suddenly shattering. Cursing to himself Harvey hurriedly made his way down the stairs, the change in temperature as he entered the living room sharp and unpleasant. Dressed only in boxers and an old T shirt, normally it was warm enough to wander round in just those in the morning, but it felt as though he'd stepped through the closet doors into Narnia.

"Mike? Mike, come on – what the hell's going on?!" Raising his voice as much as he dared at that time in the morning, he called out Mike's name again and again, until suddenly everything went still. The lights stopped flickering, leaving the house illuminated in the weak light of dawn. As he crossed the room to try the light switch again, Mike came back into view, sitting up from where he'd ended up on the floor.

"What the hell was that? Do you have any idea what time it is?" At first, Mike didn't answer him, his eyes clamped shut as he tried to get a hold of himself. Harvey was too busy trying to will the electrics in his house back to life to notice at first. Nothing was turning on.

"…Sorry…I don't know what happened…"

"Well neither do I – and yet, here I am, standing in my living room at five in the Goddamn morning with a house of messed up lights. What, you got bored so you decided to dick around?"

"It wasn't me – not on purpose. I said I was sorry, so just back off" If he'd had more energy, maybe Harvey would have snapped back. Instead he pushed his hands through his hair, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, after a few deep breaths, he tried again, his tone a deal calmer this time.

"What's wrong?" When Mike didn't answer, Harvey approached the couch, sitting in his usual place as Mike mirrored him.

"Mike-"

"I remembered it – I mean, I dreamed it. I dreamed about the night I died." It was around this point that Harvey felt like a bit of an ass for snapping at him.

"Are you alright..?" Mike smiled, though it was weak and half-hearted.

"I should be…it's been long enough since it happened. It just…it felt real, I mean not just vivid…like I was reliving it. Trevor was here, I was talking to him, the sounds, smells, feelings…" His eyes had taken on a slightly glazed look, as people do when they're deep in thought or severely distracted, but his fingers were still absently teasing the blood-soaked material of his shirt. Harvey wanted to move his hand away, snap him out of it, but instead opted to place a hand on his shoulder. Mike didn't really react until Harvey's hand fell through his shoulder, making him shudder.

"That felt really weird…"

"Sorry…forgot for a second…" Pulling his hand back, Harvey subtly tried warming it back up; his palm felt as though he'd been holding ice for the past ten minutes. Rubbing both hands over his own face, Mike exhaled loudly – or at least, made the sound associated with it.

"I'm okay...it's okay. Just, a reminder for the future not to try that again."

"Sleeping?"

"Yeah…but hey, on the plus side, I won."

"Won what?" When Mike smiled again – a little more authentically this time – Harvey clocked what he meant, smirking himself.

"Technically, no, you didn't. You said you 'remembered' something, you didn't dream it."

"Oh come on! I remembered it whilst sleeping, which counts!"

"Sorry – we specifically agreed on you dreaming; dreams are surreal and embarrassing, or…" Reconsidering the next phrase out of his mouth, Harvey motioned for Mike to forget it as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Memories don't count."

"You never said that"

"Well, that'll teach you to ask more questions, won't it?"

"You're such a lawyer." His grin slowly morphed into a yawn, but Harvey still made his way triumphantly to the kitchen. There was no point in going back to bed now…might as well make the most of the extra hour.

That evening went as they usually did – Harvey got something to eat, and soon settled in front of the television. First they'd watch the news for a while, then finally, the sports channels would go on. But when a hockey game of some description filled the screen instead of basketball, Mike didn't get the chance to say thing. Harvey just rolled his eyes, but smiled softly.

"Just shut up and watch."


	7. A fine, fine line

The next few days passed pretty uneventfully; as it turned out, the majority of the lights had survived Mike's nightmare, save for Harvey's bedside lamp. And, as promised, the following two nights involved the both of them sitting side by side, with hockey playing on the TV and Mike slowly but surely getting more involved in the game, yelling at the screen at random intervals and sitting right on the edge of the couch, at which point Harvey would just watch him with an amused laugh perpetually on the tip of his tongue. He had to admit, living with someone else – regardless of whether or not it had been unwilling at first – had been somewhat of a blessing in disguise. He enjoyed being alone, but equally, having someone around to converse with and vent to was something he could get used to.

On the fourth day, Mike was all set for his companion to return so their routine could continue. That's exactly what it was now; routine. And while he wasn't strictly a creature of habit, he knew Harvey was. So as the day gradually came to a close and Mike was still alone, he went from boredom to impatience. What made it worse was his inability to really do anything; he could just about turn the lights on and off, but anything vaguely entertaining was off the cards. The hours crawled by, the sun slowly left the sky, until Mike was just wandering around the house, flicking switches and trying to find ways to pass the time. Harvey probably had to work late, which was fair enough, Mike supposed. It just meant he had more time to be nosy and go through Harvey's stuff. Like a child home alone, he opened Harvey's bedroom door with caution, as though there was still a risk of him getting caught. This had been his room, once upon a time, but there was no doubting it; Harvey had done a much classier job of decorating it. Hell, he'd even made his bed – something Mike very rarely did. There wasn't much on the walls, but the room didn't look so much bare as it did minimalist, the furniture alone probably cost more than the house. Well, maybe not that much…but it made Mike feel as though he'd stepped into the VIP suite of a ten star hotel.

With effort, he managed to open the wardrobe doors, a small light coming on as he did so. Reaching out, Mike pushed his hand through the rows of suits and shirts. He imagined they all smelled of Harvey's cologne, which in turn he imagined was expensive, but subtle, sophisticated. Like him. The whole closet was so beautifully organized – everything was where it was supposed to be, nothing was out of place. For some reason, all Mike really wanted to do right then was be able to feel the material beneath his hands and between his fingertips, to be able to envelope himself in the clean, silver-grey sheets of the bed and really feel them warm around him. He wanted to be reminded of what cooking food and beer and freshly washed laundry all smelled like, what it was to be touched by another person. Not just sexually, either – a pat on the back, a handshake, a playful shove, anything; when Harvey had tried to touch his shoulder several nights back, he'd felt nothing. And for the first time in a long time – almost since he'd been killed – it'd hurt. Hurt emotionally, psychologically. You know, that's why hot drinks are described as being comforting? They mimic the warmth of other people. And he couldn't even make himself a coffee to help himself feel better.

Leaving the wardrobe doors open, he stepped carefully towards the en suite, fingertips leaving ghostly trails along the wall as he went. The bathroom was similar to the bedroom in every way but one. The body washes, shampoos, hair products and just the sheer amount of bottles were all organized – probably in alphabetical order, in order of what works the best. Everything was spotlessly clean. But, and this would have been the first thing he'd noticed had it not been for the obscene amount of personal grooming products, the towel rack was a mess. Literally, towelmageddon. It seemed so out of synch with the rest of the house. He wouldn't have said Harvey was obsessive, but he did like things being just-so. So seeing his towels just thrown haphazardly at the rack as if Mike had personally used them all just to spite Harvey was…odd. It was around that point that Mike realized he was literally standing in another man's bathroom, criticising his towel arrangement.

He really had hit that level of boredom.

Heading back into the bedroom, he gracelessly threw himself onto the bed, letting himself sprawl across the duvet like he'd fallen from a great height. Eventually, he pushed himself up, and leaned back into the pillows, proudly making no incriminating indents to show he was there. Folding his arms up behind his head, he closed his eyes for a moment, simulating a deep, smug inhale. This had been his room once, after all. It felt right to be in here again, even if this bed was bigger than his had been. His moment of bliss didn't last long, however. The front door opened downstairs, and the sound of voices filled the emptiness of the ground floor. Sitting up, Mike sat still for a moment, trying to determine who had come in. It was definitely Harvey, but the second voice he didn't recognize. Despite knowing he wouldn't make any noise, he still eased himself off the bed, and crept towards the door, then out into the corridor where he rested his elbows on the bannister. The second voice was undeniably female…and with a look at the clock back in the bedroom, it wasn't anyone Harvey worked with. This was the first time Harvey had brought anyone home since he'd moved here, and Mike didn't know why he'd expected this to never happen. Harvey was rich. He was charismatic, successful, and…gorgeous.

He really just thought that. Even in the afterlife it's still possible to have your sexuality fuck you over. Who knew?

It was true though, Harvey really was, and the pull that Mike had felt in his belly a few nights ago during the first hockey game had now turned into a painful ache. He considered just disappearing from the evening until Harvey left the next day, but he found himself spiting that thought, and cautiously going downstairs anyway. Harvey and his mystery guest were against the far wall, hands wandering and Harvey's suit jacket falling to the floor as Mike neared the bottom step. He knew he shouldn't stay, that he should make himself scarce, give his housemate some privacy. But he found himself stuck in place, hand clamped to the bannister as he watched the stunning brunette explore Harvey's body with her hands. It wasn't until she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pushed him against the wall instead that Harvey deigned to open his eyes, one minute letting her kiss his neck, the next realizing they were being watched. He went to say something, but the look on Mike's face before he disappeared from view told him, for once, to keep his comments to himself.


	8. Five stages

The house was quiet the next morning. Harvey was the first to leave, of course; there was his morning run as well as the usual morning routine to get in before he left for work. Something Mike never understood – he was far more inclined towards sleeping in and dozing the morning hours away. As his companion slept, Harvey picked his jacket up and headed downstairs, not wanting to risk waking her, as well as hoping to see Mike. Perhaps he should have called ahead and left a message for him, to let him know that he wouldn't be coming back alone. Of course, part of him immediately snorted at the thought; this was his house, not Mike's, and he could bring home who he wanted, do what he wanted. But it still felt awkward. It shouldn't have; after all, Mike was hardly new to bringing girls home, or so he liked to assume – for Mike's sake if no one else's – but the look on his face before disappearing had planted a seed of guilt in the back of Harvey's mind. And the most frustrating thing was not being entirely sure why.

The woman that had been brought home left of her own accord, after helping herself to coffee and not bothering to refill the pot. But, finally, she got dressed and left, leaving the house with an air of empty tension. Only after he was certain she had gone did Mike allow himself to move around. The previous night had been awkward, but he doubted Harvey even remembered seeing him – God knows he was distracted enough, if that's not too much of an understatement. Several hours passed, and eventually the childish boredom that held onto him got too much. Pushing himself up from the kitchen counter, Mike decided to try something he hadn't done for a long time.

He tried to leave the house.

Now, the last time he attempted to do this was about two days after he'd died. It seemed like a relatively simple task; step out of house, go wherever he wished, repeat as necessary. But naturally, it hadn't happened as such. Instead, he'd gone to step outside, only to be forcefully pushed back into the house. This had to happen around twenty times before Mike began to get discouraged. Another few attempts and long bouts of swearing in frustration, and eventually he'd resigned himself to watching the world go by from his bedroom window. That was the hardest thing to get over; the fact he'd never breathe the air after it'd rained or feel the sun on his face. The fact he was dead. Deceased, murdered, gone. Gradually, he went from adjustment to restlessness, and for a little while, the feeling that this would turn out to be some cosmic mistake didn't quite leave him.

And then had come the waves of rage – Trevor had done this, his best friend had sentenced him to this purgatory and he was just going to get away with it. He'd died over a girl – granted, at the time she hadn't just been 'a girl', but she'd been Jenny, Jenny his best friends girlfriend, and they'd been drunk and stupid and slept together once and now he was dead for it. Had his experience been a sitcom or a short story online, he would have called Trevor's actions an overreaction. Which they were, by every definition, but this was real and had happened and he couldn't go back and apologize. Trevor got to go on living, Trevor got to smooth things out with Jenny and just pretend Mike hadn't been real until the guilt he felt eventually began to fade. Mike knew him better than anyone, and he knew that if it meant him staying out of jail, Trevor would do anything in his power to distance himself from what had happened. But what was Mike supposed to do now? He'd often asked himself, if he could leave, where would he go? Haunt Trevor, make his life miserable? Yes, for a while. Mike knew he deserved Trevor's anger, but he didn't deserve to die. And for that, yes, he'd do all he could to make sure he wasn't forgotten.

Then he remembered his Grandmother, and that anger had quickly evolved into a deep despair. How had she been told? How would she manage to get everything sorted out by herself? As it always went, he hadn't gotten to say everything he'd meant to. He would have told her how utterly grateful he was to her, for everything. How much he loved her, and how sorry he was that he was leaving her by herself. He would have been a mess, a crumpled up little boy, racked by sobs. He didn't even want to think of how upset she had been when they told her. All these thoughts stayed with him for a very long time. When the police had come and his house had become a crime scene, that had been a good distraction, but only for a little while. In time, everything had gotten cleaned up, the landlord had repainted the walls and bannister. He'd shown possible new tenants around the place; first was the young couple with a baby on the way, but they hadn't liked the location much. Next, an older couple, but they hadn't stayed long either.

For a few months, the house had been empty except for the late twenty-something. That had been the worst time. When you're that alone with yourself, the truth catches up with you, and when you can't leave the house, you quickly run out of places to go and hide. You have no choice but to face your demons, and Christ knows Mike had his share. A pair of women had rented the house for a while, and in that time – if you'll excuse the pun – Mike's spirits had lifted drastically. One stayed at home all day painting and drawing, and she had had a nice singing voice. It'd given him something to do, to enjoy. Then her girlfriend would come back and they'd watch bad movies or cook something Mike couldn't pronounce. They were happy. And until the day they moved out, in a way, Mike was too. There'd been another fortnight of him being alone, but the memories of the company he'd kept made it a little easier this time. Then Harvey had come along, and things had changed even more.

As he suspected, he still couldn't leave. The push wasn't as violent as it once was, but it was as though he was walking into a wall of cling film. Something was keeping him here, which seemed to defeat the stereotype of ghosts needing to finish their business before moving on. He had no business here, which meant he needed to get to Trevor's place somehow, or bring him here. Neither of those options looked all that attractive to him. He never wanted to see him again. But if the clichés were true, then he'd have to suck it up and get it over with.

This time, he didn't try as hard as he had before. One or two attempts at reaching his hand out of the door (after a lot of effort pulling the damned thing open) proved futile, so he eventually gave up, not bothering to close the door again. Harvey was meant to be home soon. He could do it. Or his new girlfriend could, Mike didn't much care anymore. There he went again, acting like a spiteful tenth grade girl. But he couldn't help it. Harvey was his own person, but at the same time he was Mike's – in his head, anyway. The evenings were the times they'd sit and talk, or watch TV or argue. Mike knew he was projecting; he couldn't have nice things, so why should anyone else? Why did Harvey get to enjoy life when he couldn't? Childish. Stupid. But no matter how hard he tried, adult logic didn't placate the inner, spited child any more than a cup of water effects a house fire.


	9. Lectures and Laments

By the time Harvey got home, the house was freezing cold. As he got out of his car and saw his front door wide open, his first instinct was to call the police, but as he punched 911 into his phone, he hesitated. When you have a poltergeist living in your home, finding things open when they shouldn't be, or off when they should be on, isn't so much something to be concerned about as it is a pain in the ass. Stepping inside the house with his thumb hovering over the 'call' button, Harvey cautiously switched the living room light on. The chill that ran through from the outside wasn't lost on him – if he was being honest, it actually felt colder in here than it did outdoors.

"Mike..?" The couch was empty, as was the rest of the room, and the rest of the house. Calling Mike's name some more, Harvey gingerly checked each room, in case an intruder had in fact been hiding the whole time. But he was alone. And Mike was nowhere to be found. With a shrug, Harvey cancelled the call, hung up his coat, and went about settling for the evening. He had a trial to prepare for anyway, so perhaps it was better Mike wasn't around. That being said, the kid was smart – Pearson Hardman smart, that much was certain. Going into the kitchen, he went to pour himself some coffee, but to his irritation, the pot was empty.

Hours passed, and still there was no sign of Mike. Harvey got his work done, made some food for himself, and eventually headed to bed, assuming the ghost would make his presence known the next day.

Two days went by, and still, Harvey remained the lone tenant in the house. Though at the end of the third day, Mike made himself known once more. As the car door slammed behind him, Harvey groaned to himself when he saw the upstairs windows were open, as well as the front door again.

"Come on, Mike…" He muttered to himself, scarf blowing across his face as he made his way up the steps. Letting himself in, he practically kicked the door closed, cursing under his breath at how damn cold it was inside.

"Mike? Mike." As he turned on the lights, he could see the couch was empty. As was the kitchen, and had it not been the shape of someone sitting at the top of the stairs, he would have checked the upper floor as well.

"He finally shows himself - Jesus, why'd you leave the door open? Actually no, better question, why were you opening it at all? Someone could have broken in-"

"Wouldn't really be 'breaking in' if the door was open…"

"What's wrong with you? I'm serious, what's this about – because if this is going to become a regular thing, I-"

"It's not going to. You can relax. Your belongings are safe." Harvey's expression darkened as Mike got to his feet, coming down each step almost…smugly, as though Harvey's reaction was completely uncalled for, though he stopped when there were two stairs between them.

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't bullshit me, Mike. I'm not an idiot, and you're acting like a teenage girl on her period." That earned him an eye roll and an indignant snort. Like he couldn't believe Harvey didn't know what was wrong, which In turn only made the Lawyer more frustrated.

"Did I do something?" A pause, then it dawned on him. "Is this because of last night..?" The flash of youthful annoyance that washed over Mike's face gave him away instantly.

"You're kidding, right? You're pissed at me…because, what? I brought someone home? Because I didn't tell you?"

"No, that's not it"

"Then what is it?" Nothing. Shaking his head, Harvey pulled his coat off and went to hang it up, leaving Mike to stew for a few moments more before he returned. With one hand pushed comfortably into his pocket, Harvey came back, noting just how embarrassed and angry Mike seemed. He was looking anywhere but him, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets like a guilty shoplifter.

"Well, since you've found it in you to keep quiet for a change, let me be clear here. This is my house now, not yours. I can do what I want here. If I want to stay out all night, I will do. Bring women home? I think we've established that's not an issue."

"I don't need a lecture, Harvey-"

"See it's funny you should say that, because it sure as hell seems like you do. Or at the very least, a reality check. Because here's a newsflash for you, Mike. I don't have to run anything by you. I don't need your permission. If you don't like the way I live, that's your problem, not mine."

You know the feeling; when you're yelled at in class and you can feel everyone sniggering. When your parents shout at you for something you didn't do, or for something you did despite it being for your own good, in your mind at least. That hot feeling in your cheeks, the prick of tears in the corners of your eyes, the sensation of your stomach churning with humiliation and personal injustice. That was what Mike was experiencing, and what was worse, he knew precisely why. He knew why and it was eating at him, that he couldn't tell Harvey why. He found he couldn't look anywhere but the floor as Harvey went on and on. Once there was a period of quiet, he managed a glance up. Harvey was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation. After a long, tense minute of silence, Mike finally offered some kind of response.

"…I tried to leave. I wanted to, but um…I can't, still. I can't go." This softened Harvey's expression by several degrees, but it only made Mike's chest fill with emotion that much more.

"You wanted to go..?"

"That's what I said"

"Why." Once again, Mike found himself at a loss for words. Instead he scrubbed a hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his neck.

"I don't know…I just wanted to try it, see if I could-"

"I just told you not to bullshit me. You've been fine, you told me you liked being here. What's changed? Tell me-"

"Nothing, nothing's changed-"

"Mike"

"Alright, fine. This about last night. When you didn't come home, I figured you were working – obviously that wasn't why you were so late, but it made me realize…"

Harvey narrowed his eyes slightly, nodding slowly to prompt Mike to continue.

"Realize...what?"

"…That….you have your own life. That just because I don't have mine anymore, it doesn't mean you're going to stop living yours. And you shouldn't…you shouldn't, I just…I guess I hate the fact that you've got friends, girlfriends, your work….and all I have is you. This is it for me. Just…this" Gesturing around him, Mike could feel himself getting a little worked up.

"And I look forward to seeing you when you get back because it means I have someone to talk to, someone to talk to me. It means there's someone who knows I'm here but doesn't care. And when you go off and don't come home or you bring someone with you, it reminds me of how alone I actually am"

"You're not-"

"Yes, Harvey, I am. Because you're alive, and I'm not. And that's never gonna change."


	10. Hands on

Harvey was a little lost for words. He hadn't the first clue how to comfort someone after they'd died – read that sentence again, and ask yourself if anyone has ever really had to before. This was obviously something that had been eating at Mike for some time, but had only been pushed over the edge by Harvey being…well, himself. Was he sorry for that? Yes. Was he going to make his home off limits to any future guests to save Mike's feelings? Probably not. But this needed to be fixed. Whether he liked it or not, Mike had become part of his life, and he'd be lying if he said he wanted that to change any time soon. He ran a palm over his eyes as he tried to find the words that Mike needed to hear, but the younger of the two could see Harvey was falling short.

"I'm sorry…I shouldn't have said anything"

"Yes, you should have. Maybe not like this, but...you know you could have talked to me. I would have listened."

"Yeah I know, I know…"

With a sigh, Harvey motioned for Mike to follow him to the couch, where he settled back into the cushions with a contented sigh. Noticing this with a small smile, Mike pulled his knees up to his chest as he sat down.

"Long day..?"

"Something like that."

For a minute there was just quiet between them; awkward small talk was neither man's forte, but neither was talking about how they felt. Just the muffled sound of traffic and the occasional car horn served as the evening's soundtrack, until finally, Mike broke the ice.

"…I'm not really sure what to say here"

"Join the club."

"When I said I was sorry, I meant it – all this, it's just me being an oversensitive idiot. I'm not expecting you to do anything or change anything…"

"Okay, now you really do sound like a tenth grade girl. Look…I don't know how you feel, and I'm not going to pretend like I do. But the fact you wanted to leave tells me it wasn't just me that made you want to go, or the fact that you're lonely. Have you considered the fact that maybe you want to…you know…move on?"

Mike just blinked at him for a moment, as if trying to process what Harvey was saying.

"You think I want to leave…? Like, permanently?"

"I thought that's what you were talking about? You said you were trying to-"

"No! No, nothing like that…I just meant I wanted to leave the house. You know, so I could wander round the city while you're work, visit my grandmother…maybe come with you one day to the firm…" Harvey smirked at that idea, and maybe it was Mike's imagination, but he seemed almost relieved that he didn't want to go. When he went to speak again, he hesitated for a moment, scratching the back of one hand absently.

"…I don't want to. I mean the whole idea is great and all – white light, feeling of peace, 'going to the other side'…"

"But?"

"But…well, what happens then? Will I still be me, will I be aware of what's going on? I know it's kind of dumb, but…I'm scared." When he glanced up, Harvey was looking at him with an expression that was the epitome of patience; like he was really hearing what Mike was saying, even if it was paranoid, or stupid. It helped, to know he wasn't being brushed off for once.

"I guess this is what happens when people die, you know? They're absolutely terrified of nothingness, even though they won't be aware of it. Terrified of being forgotten, lost…that's what I have, now. And what if it's not as great on the other side as everyone makes it out to be? I mean no one really knows, right? I know if it means an eternity in some shitty afterlife or an eternity following you around and watching hockey…I know what I'd pick…"

That made Harvey smile fully, and once again, without thinking, he reached out a hand to give Mike's shoulder a squeeze. And, like last time, his fingers just fell straight through him, this time making both men flinch away.

"That feels weirder every time you do it"

"Sorry, I keep forgetting you're…well, apparitional"

"Ooh, big words"

"What're you implying?"

"That you're a strong, independent educated man who don't need no thesaurus-"

"Okay stop, stop"

It was a lame attempt at humour, but they both found themselves sniggering at it. It was a good release of the tension that had slowly been building in Mike's sulk-ridden absence, and to be able to laugh and kid around again lifted a weight from their chests. Unfolding himself into a normal sitting position, Mike sat forward an inch or two.

"Hey – can I, uh…can I try something?"

"…Like what?"

"I want to try touching you"

"At least take me to dinner first."

"Shut up – I'm serious. I want to see what it's like, when it's on purpose. The only two times you've tried you've yanked your hand away."

When Harvey gave him a nod of permission – hesitant as it was – Mike beckoned for him to hold a hand up, before slowly pressing his palm into Harvey's. At first, he didn't really feel anything.

"What's it like for you..?"

"Very, very cold. Like I've got my hand in an ice bucket. How about for you?"

"There's…nothing, really. Nothing- no wait, keep it there…" Keeping his hand up obediently, Harvey did his best to ignore the stinging cold that felt like it was bonding with his bones. Mike, on the other hand, had a genuinely excited smile spreading across his boyish face.

"You look like you've just discovered your first-"

"I can feel it – I can feel your hand!"

"Really..?"

"Yes! Well, I mean it tingles a little"

"Does it feel warm or anything?"

"No…no, it's like…pins and needles…"

Finally, he pulled his hand away, letting Harvey take his own back and immediately begin warming it again.

"That was awesome…"

"Well, I'm glad you managed to answer that question. You should know, if my hand develops frostbite I'm suing."

Mike chuckled at that, but he was now far too distracted by the fact he'd just felt something – actually, literally, physically _felt something. _It hadn't been his imagination, or nothingness. It had been real. Which led his mind to other things as Harvey got to his feet, saying something about making dinner for himself. As always, Mike joined him in the kitchen, sitting up on the far countertop and watching as Harvey prepped and chopped and diced. He'd never had much in the way of cooking talent, but Harvey seemed to be pretty good at it – his meals always looked really good, at least.

The rest of the evening passed with a relaxed, contented ease. They watched sports, Harvey did a little work, and eventually went to bed. Everything from then went as normal, though his sleep was disturbed slightly at round three in the morning by the fleeting feeling of an icy coldness across his lips.


	11. Puzzles and plates

"Morning"

"Hey, morning"

"You're up early"

"Very funny – sleep well?"

"Alright, yeah…"

Hopping up onto the kitchen counter, Mike watched Harvey with a small smile. He liked watching him as his routine unfolded each day; first he'd go out for his usual morning run, but before that he'd put on a fresh pot of coffee for when he got back, and get himself a glass of water. His hair would still be messy despite his attempts to comb it with sleepy fingers, half-lidded eyes still slightly sensitive to light, and movement just a little sluggish. Mike knew he was a heavy sleeper, and by the looks of it, last night he'd really been out of it. And so, he'd leave the house, and like clockwork would return half an hour later, out of breath but more awake by miles. Back on the countertop, Mike would resume his people watching as Harvey poured himself some coffee and made some breakfast for himself – they'd talk, mostly about what cases Harvey was working lately. Sometimes he'd bounce ide's off his resident ghost, and sometimes, he'd get this look on his face and point a finger Mike's way, indicating his suggestion was exactly what his plan had been missing. It was a good feeling, like he was a part of his work.

That was rapidly becoming his 'first thing to do once he worked out how to leave the house' – go to Pearson Hardman, sit in the famed and much talked about office, and watch as Harvey went about his day. He could finally 'meet' Donna, see if Harvey was exaggerating anything about Louis…Jessica he was admittedly a little intimidated by even without ever having met, or even seen her. But it'd just be a cool change of pace – even if he'd feel out of place in pyjama bottoms and a bloody T shirt. At one point he'd shared this thought with Harvey, who had just laughed in his usual, slightly condescending-but-I-get-away-with-it-because-I'm-s o-damn-good-looking sort of way.

"You realize no-one would be able to see you, right? You could go in there buck nude and no-one would be any the wiser"

"You would be"

"I wouldn't let you in my office."

"At all? Or if I was naked?"

He just got an eyebrow raise for that, but it was followed quickly by a smirk. Mike just shrugged playfully.

"Besides, it wouldn't matter – you said one whole wall of your office is glass. I could just awkwardly white-guy dance outside your door."

"Would you still be naked?"

"Would you find that distracting?"

"Is that something you find yourself doing a lot?"

"Dancing, or dancing naked?"

"The latter – wait, hold it. I don't want to know."

While Harvey's smile made him look charming and just a little bit smug, when Mike smiled and laughed, years fell off of his already youthful face – something a genuine smile should do to everyone, and in turn, make those around them mirror their expression. That was a small trait Harvey had noticed in the younger man. When he laughed or grinned, they both ended up doing so. It was infectious.

Getting up from his seat at the breakfast bar, and therefore signalling that it was nearly time for him to go get changed, Mike piped up again as he hopped down from the counter.

"I think I'm gonna try again. Leaving, I mean."

Harvey gave him a look, but finally a short nod.

"Alright…you think you'll be able to this time?"

"I don't know…probably not, but if I don't try I'll never know"

"Proverb of the day. Just, put a little more effort into closing the front door this time? I don't want to come home to a freezing cold house again."

"That's fair…I'll try not to leave it open again"

"No, you either shut it once you're finished, or I get a priest in here to cleanse the house and exorcise you."

As Harvey's back was turned briefly, Mike stuck his tongue out at him, though quickly poker-faced when he looked back over.

"This might be a stupid question, but don't you get bored?"

"All the time. But I'm used to it I guess – Oh! Maybe you should get me one of those ten thousand piece jigsaw puzzles."

"How old are you, exactly?"

"What? They're actually pretty fun – and good to pass the time. Besides, if I can open a door, I can pick up puzzle pieces."

He wasn't sure if Harvey knew he was serious or not – the lawyer just smirked and shook his head, leaving his mug and plate on the bar as he left the room and headed upstairs to get ready.

Now, you know those moments where you think; 'Hey, this sounds like a really good idea!' but a small part of you tells you not to carry it out, but you do it anyway because, well, what's the worst that could happen? That happened very soon after Harvey had disappeared upstairs. Because Mike, still very inclined to overestimating himself at the best of times, decided it would be a fantastic idea to try and clear the left-behind dishes from the bar and get them to the sink (opening the dishwasher was still a little out of his depth). Simple in theory, right?

In practice, Mike had never been great at cleaning in life, and that was not a skill he'd improved post mortem.

First came the plate. It took a bit of effort to pick it up, but he eventually got that done. It was the carrying it across the room that Mike fell short of success. Within seconds of it being in open air, he lost his grip on the stupid thing, and desperately flailed to try and catch it before it hit the ground, violently smashing and sending shards skittering across the tiled floor. Frozen in place with eyes captured in a cringe induced wince, Mike glanced up at the ceiling, as though he'd be able to gauge whether or not Harvey heard. He could faintly hear the shower going, but when there were no shouts aimed at him, he managed to relax a little. There was still the issue of cleaning up before Harvey came downstairs, not that he'd really be able to do anything about it; holding and aiming a broom was out of the question – he didn't even look at the dustpan and brush.

Now, someone with a little common sense would think that that was enough of a hint to not try again – but, he was determined. After all, he'd been able to move things easily enough at first. Harvey's couch weeks ago, his records, the door, plus some other smaller things with the couple that had lived here before. But it had gradually gotten harder and harder to keep his grip steady and consistent. Perhaps it was because he was trying to leave…maybe it was because of how long he'd been on this plane. He had no idea, but he didn't like the thought of not being able to do anything at all. He liked having the ability to feel things, even if it was just a pins and needles sensation. It'd felt good when he touched Harvey's hand, and whenever he managed to hold things, it felt almost the same. It was like…losing his ability to hold and touch things meant losing one of his last connections to the living world. Other than his relationship with Harvey, which he never intended to let go of. And he supposed, if it meant staying with him, he could give up the sense of touch. It'd suck, but, it'd be a compromise he'd be willing to make.

And so, he tried again, this time with the mug. The results were the same, although this time he actually managed to get it closer to the sink than the plate had been before finally dropping that as well. This time, the crash got Harvey's attention.

"Mike? What'd you do?"

Hurriedly heading to the foot of the stairs, he gave Harvey his best I-didn't-do-it-I-swear grin.

"Nothing, nothing – everything's fine down here. Absolutely no broken plates."

Harvey, clad in nothing but a towel, just scowled at him.

"Why is it I can't leave you alone for five minutes without my stuff paying for it?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry – I'll clean it up….somehow"

"Don't worry about it, I'll do it when I come down. Just don't touch my mug, whatever you do."

Mike just glanced to the kitchen, and looked back up at Harvey with a sheepish, but apologetic smile. He just glowered at him, before going back into his room, calling down at him before shutting his bedroom door.

"I wonder what the going rate for getting your house spiritually cleansed is nowadays…"


End file.
